


To Give Them A Voice

by sasha_b



Series: Live By The Sword [66]
Category: King Arthur (2004), Original Work
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, High School, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Language, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 14:37:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17003535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sasha_b/pseuds/sasha_b
Summary: Pre-relationship, Arthur and Lancelot begin to form their bond.  High School years.





	To Give Them A Voice

**Author's Note:**

> This story has mentions of what an abusive jerk Lancelot's father is, but does not include any descriptive actions. Title inspired by Mike Shinoda's Post Traumatic.

Lancelot’s father wasn’t home.

His sister was, however, but scaling the ivy trellis that grew to the top of his house (the one that was conveniently located next to his bedroom window) allowed him to bypass her and any of her annoying –

“Lance!”

_Shit._

He crawled in through the window he’d left cracked open, Guinevere’s bellow almost shaking the walls. The sun was fully down, and the bugs that lived in their formally landscaped backyard were beginning to make their normal evening riot. He was sweaty and tired and the clothing he’d worn to the club with Guin and Elaine the previous evening was strewn about, his shoes spilling from his closet, his school stuff laying on the floor in the midst of the rest of the mess. If Roland had been home, he’d be in a lot more trouble than he might be now, with only Guinevere to see it.

He shoved his hair out of his face, ripped his damp white tee over his head, and began to hastily shovel the crap that lay on his floor into some semblance of order. “Lance! I know you’re home. What are you doing?”

He kept cleaning and ignored her. She yelled a few more times, but finally gave up after he didn’t answer her – he could hear her grumping about how he never did what she wanted him to do. Which was a crock of shit, and he angrily shoved the remaining clothing under his bed. His father didn’t come in to the room enough to look there. And if he did, well, he’d find a lot more to be angry at Lance about than just stray clothing.

He stood up and rested his hands on his hips, staring about the place. Everything seemed in order, and he finally stopped trembling enough to manage sliding his leather pants off, remembering at the last second to hang them in the closet before he had to clean up more stuff. 

Throwing on shorts and a tee shirt, he slumped to his bed and raised hands to the light, eyeing the healing scars on his right one, shuddering only once more at the thought of his father and when he might be home. Lance had had a good time going out with Guinevere and Elaine the night before, but despite wanting desperately to leave the house two nights in a row, he knew if he wasn’t there when Roland arrived this time, there’d be hell to pay. And he was tired of worrying about his father. He was tired of being terrified of his father, and all he wanted now was a little fucking peace and quiet so he could think about some things.

Some things that he’d been pretty sure of the moment he’d met Arthur, but he hadn’t wanted to examine them too closely, as his track record with previous friends wasn’t that good or positive.

This had lasted almost a year, and that was _something_ he’d never experienced before. Not unless it was someone who only wanted to be friends with him for what Lance could get the other person. He didn’t want that anymore.

Unfortunately he’d probably have it for the rest of his life, and maybe with Arthur too. He wasn’t sure. He was really confused at the closeness they had, at the friendship and fun and the –

“Lancelot.”

His door swung open and he lowered his hands to his legs, quickly hiding the inside of his right one so his father wouldn’t know he was still thinking about something he was sure Roland had almost completely forgotten. The trembling started in his right leg again, but he smashed it down with his hand and tried to smile at his father innocuously. 

“Dad.”

“Why is your sister bellowing at you?” His father entered the room, thankfully leaving the door open. Lance could smell his expensive cologne and his damned right leg kept up its dance of fear; he pushed harder on it with his still healing fingers.

“I’m not sure,” he sputtered out, adding “sir,” as Roland frowned at him. “Find out what she wants. It’s too loud, and she’s young and might need you.” Roland took a few steps and raised Lance physically with his hand under Lance’s armpit before he could rise himself – it hurt and he winced but froze when Roland picked up his right hand and looked at the scars.

“Help your sister,” he said again, quietly. He didn’t raise his eyes from Lance’s hand.

“Sir,” Lance affirmed and stepped away from his father, trying not to rip his fingers from Roland’s grasp. His leg still shook but he crossed quickly to the door and down the hall to Guinevere’s room, fear making him stink. Fuck his father. Fuck his authoritarian personality and fuck Guinevere for being a kiss ass little b-

“Lance,” she looked up as he went into her room, shoving his hands into his pockets, feeling his father’s presence behind him, watching as Lance twisted his mouth and waited for whatever the fuck his sister wanted.

He helped her reach the top of her shelving unit, folding clothing and handing it up, listening to her prattle on about school or some movie or a new store in the Beverly Center and tried not to feel the looming, terrifying miasma of black nothing that surrounded his father and reached out for him, his hand clenching without his say so, and he counted the seconds in his head until he could leave the house and get away from the horror and dread he had no control over. 

After a few moments Roland ghosted away – Lance finished helping Guinevere and slid out of her room before she could ask him to do anything else. The bugs outside were screaming and night weighed heavily in the sky, the oddly placed humidity making Lance feel as though he carried the world on his shoulders with its mass and wetness.

He closed his door silently; his father knew that meant _homework_ and Lance prayed with all his might that would hold for the rest of the evening. Most of the time Roland retreated to his study and he and Guin didn’t see their father until the next morning or afternoon. Lance knew Roland was in the money business, but not exactly what he did – he’d been getting a bad feeling lately that his father wanted him to know more and that was almost more terrifying than what else could happen should he make Roland angry again.

He slammed through his math and English homework and then, when the clock at his bedside spoke the time _10:30 PM_ in its affected, stilted robot voice, he stood and slid his window open, the WD40 he kept under his bed his favorite thing right that moment. He shimmied down the ivy trellis that grew prettily next to the balcony outside of the second floor common room and hit the grass in his sneakers, his dark hair and shorts blending nicely with the heavy black sky.

In about five seconds he was over the wall and onto the street, his long legs powering him away from the house and down through the quiet neighborhood, trees allowing him to hide when any cars happened to pass. He knew every car that did, and he definitely did not want any neighbors to see him, as they’d call his father and then he’d be dead for sure.

Arthur’s house was almost a mile from his, but he got there in record time, and shaking his hands out from residual nervousness, he went around to the back and knocked quietly at the door to the separate little house behind the main one. Trees bent and swayed toward him; pine and oak and birch and he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, inhaling the outdoors and allowing his nerves to calm.

“Hey!”

Lancelot opened his eyes and smiled at the boy that let him into the house.

“What are you doing up? You alright?” Arthur was wearing sweats and a grey tee with the words _Huntington Beach High School Mavericks_ plastered over it, and his hair was smashed on one side, his face creased from pillow marks. Lance wanted to rub it and fix it for him, but he stopped before he could raise his hand more than halfway.

Lance followed Arthur into the small living room – the separate house was a loft, and he could see the edge of Arthur’s uncharacteristically rumpled bed above the dark stairs. The TV was on low, though, and that meant Arthur wasn’t sleeping.

They sat on the couch, Lance crossing his legs after kicking his shoes off (he could only feel comfortable around Arthur, which was weird and made him thinky) and facing the other boy. “You not sleeping?” he asked, ignoring Arthur’s question.

“I’m sleeping,” Arthur came back almost defensively, but still smiled at Lance, even though it didn’t reach his eyes. Lance twisted his mouth and pointed at the TV upstairs. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Arthur grumped. “I _was_ sleeping.” He took a sip of the water that sat on the coffee table and raised his eyebrows. “Why are you up?”

Shit. Lance was hoping he wouldn’t ask, but – he rubbed his hands together, the right one throbbing suddenly, and pressed his lips into a thin line. “No reason, really. Just wanted to see how…um, your paper was going.”

“At 10:30pm on a Thursday?”

“Well, you know. School’s important, Arthur. I’m just trying to make sure you’re doing what you’re supposed to.” Lance pulled a serious face, but couldn’t hold it and allowed the laughter to come when Arthur’s incredulity made his entire body crunch forward. “I don’t know,” Lance admitted after a minute of laughing. He leaned toward Arthur and touched his knee. “I’m – I just didn’t want to be home.”

He shrugged and didn’t meet Arthur’s eyes. Those green eyes, that destroyed him no matter what or when or where he was. Those eyes that kept him awake sometimes, and fuck _no_ he wasn’t going to admit that.

“Your dad.”

It wasn’t a question. Lance shrugged again, but Arthur leaned closer and Lance raised his face to look at Arthur. He couldn’t _not_ for long. “Isn’t there something you can do? Some other family member you can live with – you can stay here anytime you want,” he added, taking his turn to touch Lance on the knee, “but Uther would shit a brick if he knew you were here all the time. I’m sorry, Lance.” Arthur sighed and bit his lip. “I hate this. I hate it for you. I hate that he’s such an ass.”

 _You have no idea_ , Lance thought, and shook his head, blinking. The TV droned on softly, Nature (or Nova; Lance knew Arthur liked both) prattling on about sharks and their habits. Arthur’s small house was quiet and soft, and Lance allowed his forehead to fall to Arthur’s shoulder, his hands seeking for the other boy’s, and Arthur took them and didn’t speak.

“I’m lucky,” Lance murmured after a few moments had passed. “I’m so lucky.”

“He’s a dick, Lance. Why would you say that?” Arthur’s voice came from a spot a few inches above Lance’s left ear. He could smell Arthur’s deodorant and whatever spicy cologne he wore; it smelled like (God, he could barf) comfort and something that made him relax, no matter what else was going on inside his fucked brain.

“Not because of him.”

Lance could feel Arthur’s smile but didn’t say anything else. 

When he felt ready to sit back up he did, taking his hands back and scrubbing them over his face and hair, trying to hide the intense emotion that made his stomach twist and burble – Arthur’s smile broadened but it was real, and it was Arthur, and man, Lance _was_ so fucking lucky. Fuck Roland. This was family.

Lance smacked Arthur on the shoulder, wanting to diffuse how he felt, and turned away from him on the couch, grabbing the bottle of water and swigging from it. _Too much, too soon._

“I’d better go. It’s late.”

“It was late when you got here.”

Lance rolled his eyes and stood. “Yes, mother.” He patted Arthur’s shoulder again when the other boy stood with him, and Arthur followed him to the door, opening it, the soft humidity of the night bringing with it the smell of cottonwoods and the city and Lance leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. The wind lifted his hair and dried some of the sweat that remained from his quick jog to Arthur’s street.

“Text me after you’ve been home a bit.”

Lance smiled tightly and nodded, meeting Arthur’s gaze briefly. He didn’t acknowledge why Arthur would say it that way. 

Roland’s shadow was long, and Arthur knew it, but Lance didn’t want him to get too involved in that shit. He needed Arthur to be his respite from his family, and if Arthur knew too much, he would want to do more about it, and that was _not_ happening. He pushed off the door and went outside. The wind hit him and blew his hair into crazy knots and he looked at Arthur and raised his hand in goodbye.

“Go to bed, okay?”

“You too. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The conviction in that simple sentence made Lance’s teeth show in the dark, and he turned and slipped through the fence that separated Arthur’s rooms from the main house. Some of the blooming jasmine that covered the gate rubbed his arm and he could smell it even when he climbed the ivy next to the second floor common room of his house, the place black and silent.

He normally showered before bed, but this time he didn’t, wanting to hold on to the soft, sweet scent as long as possible. He changed clothing and slipped into bed after sending Arthur a quick text that was just the zzz face emoji, thanking all the gods his door was still shut and his father nor his sister had come looking for him. He asked his clock to wake him at 6, and sleep did come, if only after he stopped squeezing his right hand into a fist and just remembered the feel of Arthur’s fingers in his, holding tightly, skin rough and familiar, wanted. Loved.

Fuck, he was doomed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to anyone and everyone who is reading this series, has just started, or has followed me as long as I've been writing it. They are my candy and I'm happy to have been able to finish this after poking at it for many weeks. Lance and Arthur say thank you too.


End file.
